


The Face That Launched a Thousand Ships

by QuillerQueen



Series: Greek Mythology AUs [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Trojan War Setting (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Evil Queen | Regina Mills-centric, F/M, Greek Mythology AU, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV Female Character, References to Depression, Regina as Helen, Suicidal Thoughts, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: I free-wrote this for #OQBookWeek 2020. Inspired by The Iliad. Dark, but ends on a hopeful note.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood, Outlaw Queen
Series: Greek Mythology AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871809
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	The Face That Launched a Thousand Ships

It was all a lie.

Her face hadn't started this war. Her beauty hadn't started this war either. It was never really about her.

Regina of Sparta. Regina of Troy. Regina, queen of nothing.

Born a princess, crowned a queen—all in exchange for what little freedom she'd once had. Her husband never loved her, and she had no love lost for him. Her kidnapper lusted after her, and she had the audacity to reject him. He took what he wanted anyway, as men oft did. He took their gold and took her hostage—then took her whenever fancy struck in the belly of the ship bound for the Golden City.

The face that allegedly launched a thousand ships was so swollen and bruised when she stumbled ashore she could barely see her new ‘home’.

No one really saw her.

She was a liability. A mistake. Diplomatic suicide.

She was leverage. An excuse. A calculated provocation.

Hellas cried honour; Troy cried love. They cried: pact, power, plunder.

Regina, too, cried. She cried from anger, and shame, and frustration. She cried until she had no tears left. That day had been years ago.

Hers became the face of this war—not because she chose to, but because they made her so. Every dead man, every deceased hero, every drop of blood spilled on both sides—all for her. She was beautiful, and wasn't it so very noble to lay down one's life for beauty? For love? For freedom?

Beauty had a better ring to it than greed.

War raged outside the window of her golden prison. From that window, Regina watched the Scamander run red with blood as Death took its due. And yet in all those years Death never came for her.

Then one day, ten years after it started, the dust settled on the crimson-streaked battlefield. The bay was wine-dark and shipless. The massive city walls, unconquered by Greek swords, were breached by Trojans themselves to haul in the gigantic wooden horse left at the gates as tribute.

Oh, the folly of men.

Soon, the end would come.

Troy would burn, and with it its people—the lucky ones. Others would be sold to slavery. Regina would be returned to her husband—from one prison to another, not much would change.

The face that launched a thousand ships would forever bear the stain of a war she’d neither wanted nor caused, and one she had lost long ago.

She left her window open that night, listening to the distant sounds of drunken revelry. Waiting. Not a muscle moved as steps rushed up the stairs of the tower, her face as empty and devoid of emotion as her heart was. Death had come for her heart long ago—and now it might finally take her, too.

_ Knock knock knock. _

Not a battering ram. Not the Greeks, then? Her captors had the key, they’d never bother knocking first.

_ Regina _ , Death whispered through the keyhole. He needed no key. No door could stop it.  _ I’m a friend. _

Oh, she knew.

The key rattled in the lock. The door creaked open. A breath of fresh air blew through the stuffy room.

Death had bright eyes, tired and kind. It had dimples in both cheeks, a bow in one hand and a hooded cloak in the other.

_ You’re not safe here, m’lady _ , he said, as if she didn’t know, and offered her the cloak.  _ Come. _

Regina felt no fear, only relief. She took the cloak without question. She took his hand, too, when he beckoned her to follow. 

Then came the fear. It came out of nowhere when their fingers laced together. It struck like a bolt of lightning because his hand was soft and warm and squeezed hers gently. Death was supposed to be cold; this man was everything but as he led her down the staircase and through the bleak back alleys of Troy.

_ Who are you? _

_ Robin _ , he whispered, pressed in a dark alcove as soldiers rushed past.  _ Of the royal guard. _

She’d seen those eyes before. Framed by a helmet, but warm on the rare occasion they met. They’d never spoken before, never had an unguarded moment to.

Would he even want to? And why?

Why would she?

_ Are you here on the king’s orders? _

_ No. _

They ran, then. They ran along the city walls, to where she knew they were vulnerable, to where enemies might be pouring through. They were all enemies to her, Greeks and Trojans alike. Even this man, this not-Death, this Robin.

There was a dagger strapped to his belt—and then, just one bold and audacious moment later, she was clutching it in her hand.

_ Where are you taking me? _

_ Up the Scamander—then wherever you want. _

_ Liar _ , she accused, because they all had been before.  _ Thief _ , she added—the dagger bore the royal crest.

_ I might be a thief, but I am a thief with honour. Keep it. If you catch me in a lie, use it. _

She might not believe him, but there was no lie in those eyes.

A rickety boat swayed on the red waters of the Scamander, and a little boy peered from a pile of blankets under the seat:  _ Papa! _

Her hand was cold where he no longer held it, embracing his boy instead.

Regina’s heart trembled like a bird. Not dead after all—just dormant.

She sat on the narrow bench, and the child scrambled into her lap. The water splashed about as Robin sank the oars into the foamy waves. The little boy held on to her tight when the boat lurched forward.

_ Don’t worry, my majesty _ , he said cheerfully.  _ We’re safe now. _

A tear slipped down her cheek—the first one in years.

Not dead after all—just dormant.

The sun rose over the smoking remains of Troy, its golden rays reflected by the dagger that lay forgotten at the bottom of the boat. Roland’s little hand was warm in hers, Robin’s gaze warm upon her face. Even with her cloak’s hood still on, he seemed to see her—not as the face that launched a thousand ships, but the heart beating wildly in her chest, stretching and yawning, trying to catch its breath after years of slumber.

Not dead, and no longer dormant—alive.


End file.
